For a Thousand Years More
by CaciaCoon
Summary: Drabble on the Disciple's and the Signless's relationship before and after his death. First shot at drabble, I'd like to say it's total garbage. Three-shot, please R&R! First chapter rating is K, second chapter rating is maybe a strong K . Disciple's P.O.V., last chapter is Signless's P.O.V.
1. His Disciple

**Okay, I'm drowning in feels. I needed to write this. Just a two-shot drabble on Disciple's feelings before and after his execution. Last chapter is kind of Sadstuck. Please r&r!**

**Disciple's P.O.V**

He is her everything.

She has devoted her life to his teachings, his preachings, and him.

Everything is him.

He is everything.

Some say they love each other, but it goes well beyond that.

They learn from each other, calm each other down, they are everything all at once.

He is hers, they both know this. She would do anything to protect him, she would take her life to save his.

She is his, they both know this. Even her name comes from him. She is The Disciple, A Disciple. But who's Disciple is she?

His Disciple.

Of his teachings, of his word.

But thy are each other's Disciple, in more ways than but one.

She would exile herself, be driven into solitude, become nothing more than a figure in a tragic story, to preserve everything he has taught her.

She does not know.

She does not know that this is reality.

She does not know that this is true.

For now, they simply wait in their cave. Waiting for the revolution, a revolution that all come, and go.

A revolution that will die,

but will not be forgotten.

A revolution that will live,

for a thousand years more.

**Yes, it's bad, I'm aware. I've never written drabble before, my first shot at it. here you go. **

**The next one may tug on your heartstrings a little bit.**


	2. Knight of Blood

**Bleh, bleh, bleh**

The walls are painted.

Painted with blood.

Painted with the blood of the animals she has hunted, the animals she made suffer.

Suffer like he did.

She paints the walls with his teachings,

of love, of equality.

Some say she has gone insane.

In truth, she is.

But not in the way some might think.

She loves him, even after all they did to him.

They shackled him, they beat him, they tortured him.

They killed him.

She still has nightmares, she wakes up screaming. She saw them kill him.

But there is no one to hold her, for he is gone.

They found his body, his followers, left in the center of their camp.

To say the least, it was tragic.

He was covered.

Covered in the blood the cause of his perpetuation, the cause of His Cause.

They had burned and carved symbols into him.

Symbols resembling a nine and a six, together and joined.

Some decided he could no longer be called the Signless.

They gave him a new name.

The Sufferer.

He was referred to in all the books by this new name.

Except for hers.

In her writings, in blood on the wall, he was always the Signless.

She felt he would not have stood for being called a Sufferer, The Sufferer.

For his suffering was not in vain.

His teachings lived on.

In blood, on the wall.

Written by A Disciple, The Disciple, His Disciple.

And she will wait, she will record.

for the time when hers is up, when all the sand runs out.

And she will join the dream bubble, her mission a success.

And she shall find her Signless,

And they shall be together.

Together, she says, for a thousand years more.

**You know what? I enjoyed writing that, so there's going to be another chapter. One in the Signless's P.O.V., while in the dream bubbles, waiting for Disciple.**


	3. He waits

**From the Signless's P.O.V., in the dream bubbles, waiting for his Disciple.**

He waits.

He waits, in the the dream bubbles.

He waits for her.

He waits, for her, the Disciple.

His Disciple.

He waits for her, he waits as she perpetuates his teachings.

In blood, on the wall.

How fitting, he has mused.

A war against blood, in blood.

He died for his cause, for theirs.

He died, covered in blood.

He was hopeful at first, that maybe not everything would go so awry.

But in his last and final moments, he was angry.

Angry on a level never recorded.

He was angry at the world, at his blood, at their blood, at everything.

Everything except one thing.

Her.

As his essence ebbed away into space, he thought of her.

He imagined her.

Sitting there, with him, helping him through his pain.

He had cried.

No one had noticed, it mixed with his blood.

But the Signless had cried as he suffered, cried for her.

He would never see her again, he was certain.

Never until she died, and joined him.

And he would wait, yes, he would wait.

The Knight of blood will wait in the dream bubble,

wait for her.

He will wait, he says,

for a Thousand Years More.

**Aaaand I'm done. Still haven't got it out of my system, but it will do. I wrote this entire story in like, forty minutes. Please r&r.**


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